


On the Margin of Difference

by AwayLaughing



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Drama, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 07:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20944328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwayLaughing/pseuds/AwayLaughing
Summary: Trouble walks into Anders' clinic. It does not go at all how he expected it to, all things told.A retelling ofTranquility.





	On the Margin of Difference

**Author's Note:**

> AKA
> 
> A demi-slow burn Anders reveal-fic

Anders was in the middle of wondering how far he could stretch his current elfroot supply when one of Lirene’s runners came skipping in. It was a boy, albeit a long haired one, his scraggly hair pinned back into a thin braid. Like all of the orphans Lirene paid he was as clean as he could be, and all four of his front teeth were missing. A quick survey suggested he was young enough this would not be a life long issue for him.

“Serah healer,” he said, “Lirene’s got urgent news for you.”

“I gathered,” Anders said, turning to face him fully. “Should I prepare a cot?”

“I don’t reckon so, she sent me to tell you trouble’s headed this way.”

“Templars?” he asked, tensing. Maker though – he’d known Kirkwall would be bad but not like _this_.

“Not ‘less they’re getting smart,” the boy said, hopping onto a bed, apparently unconcerned himself. “A lady came in askin’ after you. Came in with a dwarf. She left 5 gold but Lirene didn’t see that and she didn’t mention it when askin’ about you.”

Anders relaxed, just a touch. That did not sound overmuch like the templars at all. Especially not the inter-racial friendship angle, unless this lady had herself a personal lyrium smuggler. “Anything else?”

“Um...oh! Lirene said to tell you she asked for a Warden, not a healer.”

And just like that it was bad news again. “Maker’s itchy-” he cut himself off. “This lady, what did she look like? And the dwarf.”

“He wasn’t very dwarfy,” he said, “no beard. Blonde but red like? Wore some big wooden thing on his back. She were tall, short black hair, blue eyes.”

Well. Not the Commander and Oghren then. Ingrid – no _Amell_ was no person’s definition of tall, would have easily left a full 10 sovereigns without batting an eye, besides. “Anything else?” he asked, just in case.

“Hmm,” the boy said, eyes flitting around. “You got any pies?”

Anders, despite himself, snorted. “Depends on the news,” he said. “Does Lirene know you fleece the people you give messages too?”

“Just the softies,” the boy said brazenly. “Well alright. Some folks got mad thinkin’ she was trouble and the big one-”

“Big one?”

“She left two people outside. A big guy and a lady guard – d’you want news or not?”

“Right, sorry. Clarity is for paying customers, no?” the boy just blinked. “Carry on.”

“Riight,” the boy said, clearly dubious. “Sos Merrick and his lads go up all huffin’ and puffin’ and roaring, y’know,” Anders nodding, knowing Merrick perfectly well. “And the big ‘un says they ought to worry less ‘bout fellow Fereldens and more ‘bout the Templars. They didn’t look too Ferelden but I suppose they sounded it, well enough.”

“That,” he said, walking over to his desk, “is certainly worth a pie.” The boy beamed, but his eyes said he knew anything he said would be worth a pie. Not for the first time, Anders wondered if he shouldn’t have been a bit meaner at the first of all this. Just to build up a reputation.

Except that even after everything it just did not come naturally. And so, he would have to find a different supper for himself tonight.

“Fanks,” the boy said, mouth already full of half the pie. Anders managed not to look wistful, just nodded and passed the boy a silver to top it off. It was risky, but he had enough to probably stretch the month, if nothing ate through his supplies faster than anticipated.

“Give Lirene my thanks, and tell her I can handle anything Kirkwall wants to throw at me.”

“Gotcha,” the boy said and scampered away, presumably to go gloat about the pie and silver. Well, not the silver. He was probably too canny to risk _that_.

Anders didn’t get to sit back down – a voice called out from the front room for the healer. Sighing, he cast around for _something_ he could shove in his mouth – there. Stale bread didn’t do much other than fill a void – but it was enough for now.

“Here,” he said to himself, stashing it away in a pocket for a moment of reprieve. Or desperation.

* * *

Anders was in the middle of saving a woman from a gut wound and collapsed lung combination – and tamping down the urge to show her husband how exactly unacceptable this sort thing was – so he thought it was excusable when he didn’t notice her enter. Also didn’t notice the dwarf slide into conversation with his patient’s tight eyed neighbour, who had Reagan’s three month old daughter in her arms.

What he noticed, fifteen minutes later and a blessedly alive patient – was when a very tall set of blood spattered, dark haired humans re-entered and beelined it for a dwarf in the corner. Anders blinked at the image – dwarves generally did not come to him except _very_ late at night and usually with threats of violence lingering around them. This one was untatooed and oozed smooth charm, and Anders spent an inordinate amount of time to figure out why the seemed familiar.

_Tall lady; dwarf with no beard; big guy_.

No beard was true, though there was a tuft of chest hair showing at the V of his shirt that seemed to be making up for it. Big guy though – not true. Anders was a tall man. He was one of the poor boys who shot up like a young tree and spent years catching up to himself. It left him with, as Ingrid had surmised once, a scarecrow physique. This man did not suffer the same affliction. He maybe wasn’t much taller than Anders, but he was probably twice as wide and even in the clinic’s crappy lighting he could see it was all hard earned muscle. So no, not big. Huge.

And tall lady – well yes very much so. She was leaner than the man, but with strong shoulders and arms. She was leaning on a walking stick – but her legs didn’t look impaired. The dwarf noticed him watching them, or so he assumed because their eyes met briefly and then he said something and the two humans turned. The man – no boy’s – face was flatly unfriendly, eyes shadowed. She grinned, something so immediate it seemed more like a reflex than anything. Bright – very bright – blue eyes met his and the smile grew while the boy scowled harder. Despite that he saw a distinct similarity. Same nose, same strong high cheekbones, same thick, flat eyebrows.

A moment passed as if each side was waiting to see who twitched first – and then his patient’s neighbour hurried over to them.

“Serah!” she said, eyes wide. The baby in her arms fussed and the woman, Mona he thought, didn’t think twice about shoving her at Anders. “You’re – you!”

“Your neighbour isn’t the most eloquent man in Kirkwall,” the woman said, amusement tinging her voice. “Nor is he very smart.”

“Now now,” the dwarf said, “that’s not fair. He’s clearly just the sort to learn by example.”

“It’s all a bit academic either way,” the woman said. “I doubt you’ll see him again.”

“Is he dead?” Mona asked. Anders was keen to know the answer himself, and to see how Mona would react. As it was she didn’t seem sure of her own feelings – she sounded equal parts wishful and terrified.

“Not at all,” the woman said brightly. “However I am afraid to say he _is_ enjoying the hospitality of the Kirkwall guard’s most ah...tenacious member. I did have to kill several of his friends though.” She turned her head to the dwarf, “why don’t I have waves of friends coming to _my_ aid whenever this sort of thing happens?”

Despite himself Anders snorted.

“Mona,” he said, risking the name, “if you don’t mind I should check them over, they’re a bit bloody.”

“Oh of course!” She looked anxiously at the trio. “I don’t have much but-”

“No no,” the woman said, tone still amused but expression softening. “I left a terrible mess behind, I couldn’t accept money for that.”

“I insist,” Mona said, and to prove her point shoved her entire little bag of coins at the woman. “Thank you serah, this won’t go unnoticed.”

Darktown saw enough large scale brawls that maybe it would – but he supposed not if the locals started proselytizing.

“Oh excellent,” the woman said. “Well thank you Mona.” Mona nodded, stopping only long enough to collect the baby girl before she went to check on Reagan, who he did not expect to wake until morning. Anders crossed the clinic to the corner they’d claimed, others giving them an instinctive berth, studying them with a practised eye.

“So you’re Trouble,” he said before he could stop himself. The woman’s smile sprang back to life and her surly male relative’s scowl reached hitherto unplumbed depths.

The woman laughed in delight. “I’ve always known that’s how people see me but you are the first one who’s ever come right out and said it,” she turned dancing eyes to the Scowler. “This is Carver – and really, Varric already warned you about looking like Gamlen. If you keep making that face it’s only going to get worse.”

The name Varric caught his attention. He didn’t pay too much attention to anything not mage or clinic related – but even he was aware of the brothers Tethras. Several Fereldens had mentioned getting hired for some sort of super secret expedition by them, a few months back.

“I stand by it,” he said, “are any of you hurt?”

“Nothing worth your time,” Carver said.

“What my brother means is thank you, but we’re fine,” she said, “I’m afraid he left his manners in Lothering.”

“Mari,” the boy ground out.

“Carver,” she said mildly. When the boy said nothing her grin turned just the tiniest bit fond. Then she thrust Mona’s money at Anders. “Any chance you can get this back to Mona? If not use it for the clinic, then at least it gets back to her in some way.”

“Hawke, are we going to have to have a discussion about what savings are?” the dwarf asked, though there wasn’t any actual censure in his tone. Anders barely noticed – the name Hawke immediately grabbed his attention.

“The smuggler?” he demanded.

“Former,” she said, good humour apparently not remotely impacted by the reminder of her previous posession. “Much as you’re apparently a former Grey Warden. I was under the impression they didn’t make those. I can’t say doing odd jobs around Kirkwall are as stirring as living as an apostate providing free healing in a sewer, though.”

Anders’ eyes narrowed even more and a shiver went down his spine at the word apostate. “Well there’s always exceptions,” he said. “Who’s odd job are you doing now?” Had the Warden sent her? He could hardly imagine. If they wanted him they’d come and get him themselves, and he’d probably hear them coming.

Unless they just sent Nate. He tried not to wince at the thought.

“His,” she said pointing to Tethras. “Which makes it mine which means I’m doing it for free, but also actually losing money on it because time is money, as they say.” She grinned again, “but I can hardly say I mind. No one said you’d be inspiring!”

“Marker’s breath,” Carver said. “Have you ever made a point without meandering around it for twenty minutes?” he demanded before scything his gaze toward Anders. “Look, we’re not here to make trouble. We don’t care a fig about the Wardens and we don’t want the Templar’s attention anymore than you do. We need maps.”

Anders blinked. “I have an anatomy book laying around,” he said, “but otherwise-”

“He means Warden maps. We’re heading on an expedition to the Deep Roads and frankly we’re cooked without them. At best we don’t get in and we’re all poor and starving. At worst we fall down a crevice and all die,” she pinned him with a gaze. “I can pay, if you wanted some more help for the clinic,” he bristled a bit but she kept going before he could explain that _take your money and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine he was very capable of keeping his clinic running_, “-but as I said. I also do odd jobs. Nothing with children or animals – unless it’s a rescue mission. I’m particularly adept at getting cats out of trees.”

“No you’re not,” Carver said. His sister didn’t miss a beat.

“But Merrill is, and so it amounts to the same thing,” she said. “What do you say?”

Anders considered. He didn’t get the sense that Hawke was a woman with much interest in listening to _no_. If he wouldn’t give her the maps she’d either just try her luck anyway or sneak in and try and steal them. He wasn’t sure which – the constant good humour was a familiar but effective tactic. Beyond his knee jerk reaction money wasn’t actually something he should turn away – but a smuggler’s connections and skills were extremely worthwhile.

“Can I collect on that job?” he asked finally.

“Certainly!” she said, “I can write you an IOU even. Well Varric will – all official like if you want. He’s good at that,” the dwarf snorted but didn’t argue. “You are literate right? They still teach Circle mages to read these days, don’t they?”

“I’d have thought the anatomy book gave it away,” he said, zeroing in on the phrasing _Circle mages_. Apostate then?

“Anatomy did it, actually, even without the book,” Tethras said, looking incredibly pleased.

“Ha,” Anders said. “Alright, follow me,” he ushered them into his office. Or tried but the urge to check all his patients was too strong – as if any of them could have died while he was in the room. They were all fine – Reagan was still fast asleep and Mona was still hovering protectively, the baby now suckling at her breast. Anders offered her a smile and she smiled back before he entered the meagre privacy of his ‘office’.

“Just a moment,” he said. He’d kept the maps with his papers, locked in a chest that was guarded against fire, water and theft. He wasn’t so worried about the maps really, but the papers. Not for the first time he felt a surge of thankfulness toward Ingrid Amell. Recruiting him into the Wardens was maybe not the number one way he’d wanted to be saved from the circle – but when she pressed his papers into his hands it had been a freedom more complete than any other. It was almost enough to make him feel bad about stealing the maps but – he hadn’t stolen them from _her_.

“So does the Coterie bother you often?” Tethras asked, the way some people might ask about weather. Anders supposed that in Darktown, far from the sky, the Coterie was a closer equivalent than not.

“No, I heal them free same as anyone else,” he said. “And the Fereldens are amazing deterrents.”

“Don’t I know it,” Tethras said. Carver made another annoyed sound – Anders looked over his shoulder. The boy must look older than he was, if he hadn’t yet grown out of the groaning phase. Or maybe non-mage children grew up slower without Chantry Sisters breathing down their necks and Templars lurking in the corners. Though the refugees were rather proof against that. Maybe he was just a bit of a tit. “Well how about this – if they do, tell them you’re in business with Varric Tethras.”

“Really?” he asked, “what’s the catch?”

“Nothing. You’re an informant,” Tethras said. “And maybe if we ever need patching up...?”

Anders finally found the maps and, after checking them for a moment, shut the chest again. “If the lantern’s on, I’m here,” he said. And if it was off, there was a chance he was here anyway and just trying to sleep. He did not advertise that. “I don’t turn anyone away.”

“No?” Hawke asked, something in her eyes. Suspicion? Interest? He couldn’t tell.

“No,” he said firmly. “If that’s all?” They didn’t seem like bad people really – but they did take up an awful lot of room and they left him unsettled. Well no, Hawke left him unsettled. Carver and Varric he thought he understood – her? Not so much.

“Thank you,” she said, peeking at the maps in a way that suggested excitement rather than distrust. “Once you need us you can either send a note to my place – Gamlen Amell in the Low Town Old City, any debt collector can give you specifics – or you can leave a note with Corff, the bartender at the Hanged Man.” He blinked at the name Amell but didn’t say anything. Ingrid was Nevarran.

“I’m there when I’m not with Hawke or working,” Varric said. “And Corff doesn’t read my mail, which makes it much safer than sending things to Hawke.”

“Gamlen doesn’t care what’s in my mail so long as it’s not coin,” Hawke said. “Come along boys – I want to see what that help wanted poster was about.”

“Is it just us going?” Carver asked as their voices grew more distant.

“Oh no, we’re picking up Fenris first.”

“Fenris?” Carver’s disgust was palpable. “Maker’s breath _why? _He hates you.”

“Because he hits things very hard,” Hawke said, “and he does not. He laughs at my jokes.”

“Oh so he’s suffered a head trauma at some point,” Carver said. Varric spoke up – voice too low to carry and then they were out of range. Anders still stood there a moment, fighting the sudden pang of loneliness. It was hard to hear the familiar banter and not remember but...

But those days were gone.

“Serah healer?” a scruffy local’s head poked through his door frame, followed by sloping shoulders. “We need t’ follow ‘em?”

Anders chuckled once. “No,” he said, “they’re fine.”

“Uh huh,” he said, not convinced. “My wife made soup, you want I should bring some?”

“Oh no,” Anders said, suddenly remember the bread in his pocket. “I’m fine.”

“Just a bowl then,” the man said as if Anders hadn’t spoken. “Saved up for some real meat, serah. You’ll enjoy it.”

The loneliness was replaced with a surge of gratitude. That people with so little could share so much – he smiled. “I look forward to it,” he said. “And give your wife my regards.”

“Always serah,” he said and disappeared. Anders took the chance to sit, fighting a groan when his back pulled. Maybe he was getting too old for this shit.

* * *

He woke up with his head on a desk and a bowl of soup next to his head.

* * *

Hawke fled his mind over the next few weeks as more pressing issues fought for his attention. A bout of chokedamp; rumours of new abuses at the Gallows; a brawl that left a section of a tent city burnt to the ground. Most distractingly, Karl finally _finally_ got back in touch with him a short letter that left Anders unsure of what to do. Time to do everything became impossible – time to even think felt impossible. He managed by sacrificing as many scraps of self care he could until Adia cornered him and bullied him into sleeping and eating.

That had been earlier in the week and things had finally calmed again, as much as they ever did anyway. Anders was seated in an empty clinic trying to remember how to not be constantly moving when the sound of a struggle reached his ears. It wasn’t a fight – it was someone grunting and the sound of something being dragged. Not an uncommon combination, he thought a little wryly.

Indeed, it was just a question of whether they didn’t realize their ‘patient’ was dead, or had realized and hoped Anders was _really_ a miracle worker.

He was half way to the door when he stopped short. A familiar tug-and-pull song came through the door, and immediately he was doubling back for his staff. He barely had it in hand when the dragged sound stopped, and he was prepared for a few armed and armoured Templars to come crashing through the door. Instead, there was a knock. He stared for a moment, before edging closer.

“Hello, anyone home?” an unfamiliar voice sang. Or no, familiar but not one he could place. Female and cheerful.

Confused he opened the door, still half expecting a sword in the face, but he just found a beaming Marian Hawke, a giant box and – and an elf he couldn’t help but stare at because _he was covered in fucking lyrium_. Startled, he felt the constant intertwined presence of Justice nearly surge into consciousness. For a minute all he could do was stare, before he remembered that manners existed and at least managed to switch to looking at the nearly as baffling box.

“Hello master healer,” Hawke said, smile dimming a single iota. “You do remember me yes?”

“I could hardly forget,” he said, “what’s in the box and how did you get it here unmolested?”

“Oh it was a near thing,” she said, “but we are very scary.” The elf, who he realized was also wearing a huge fuck-off sword, scowled, backing up her point. He wondered if all the men in her life were surly and well armed. Well, bar Varric, who was not surly in the slightest. “Anders, this is Fenris. Fenris, this is Anders. He’s a healer so be nice.”

“Varric advised I be silent,” Fenris said.

“That’s _one_ way to interpret ‘if you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all’,” Hawke said, grinning at Anders as if inviting him to join the joke. Anders wasn’t sure he got it. “I brought you stuff! Mostly elfroot but also embrium, spindleweed, some prophet’s laurel and some witherstalk.”

“You must be joking,” he said even as he stepped aside so the two could finish bringing their cargo in. They might have strained on the stairs, but he noticed how they managed to lift it, not drag it, though also how quickly they set it in a corner once they were inside. “Why?”

“Because you need it,” she said, “and because I am outrageously generous.”

“You are,” Fenris said. “If outrageous is a synonym for stupid.”

“You’re so sweet, Fenris,” Hawke said, clearly delighted by the insult. “A shining light in the darkness, truly.”

The elf’s response was to light Anders’ entire nervous system on fire. Or, he light up an arm of _fucking lyrium_ which was nearly the same thing. Again within him Justice _surged_ and he struggled hard with not letting that little secret slip. He wasn’t sure he succeeded – the lyrium cut out and both looked at him very suddenly. They must have misread his guarded anxiety and horror as embarrassment though, because Hawke smiled.

“Awfully distracting isn’t it? You get used to it,” she said. “But also that’s a good segue into why I actually brought you the box of nice goodies.” She pointed to her friend, “he’s impossible to heal.”

“You are simply lacking in talent,” Fenris said. Hawke, unabashed, shrugged.

“I am! But usually I can handle bruises,” she looked back to Anders. “Last time I tried it went amazingly poorly. Couldn’t avoid tugging at his lyrium, which was the opposite of helpful and also, he nearly put his arm through my chest.”

“I did not,” Fenris said.

“You can do that?” Anders said, half a beat behind Fenris’ grumbled response, ignoring his other questions like _how the ever living fuck are you not dead_ and _why would anyone ever_.

Fenris nodded, eyeing him suspiciously. This time, Anders was braced for the bizarre way the lit-up lyrium seemed to dance along his spine and deep into him, and he watched surprised and a little impressed as Fenris nonchalantly stuck his arm through a cot, and then back out. Checking, he found the cot looking no worse than it had before.

“I see,” he said. “Well – you don’t look injured right now.” Or he hoped he wasn’t, not lugging that sword _and_ the box around.

“Alas, no, but I could punch him if you need to practice.”

“Do not.” Fenris’ scowl was actually very impressive.

“Please no violence in the clinic,” Anders said. “I could give it a try, anyway. It wouldn’t do anything, just get me used to casting on you.”

“Oh joy,” Fenris said, but he immediately took a seat on the same cot he’d just molested. Could you molest something by technically _not_ touching it? Was it penetration if there was no contact? These questions were, utterly meaningless, but they still danced across Anders’ brain as he considered his options. A barrier probably wouldn’t work, since you tended to cut those spells off immediately after casting.

“Do you mind if I cast haste?” he said after a throwing away the more violent options as simply non-existant. Fenris as holding quite still, so it didn’t seem it would cause him to jitter a Legion-mile a minute, but Anders thought it was best to ask, given the reticence about _something_ Fenris clearly had. “It won’t really do anything, I’ll lift it the moment I know what’s going on.”

“I suppose,” Fenris said. “Do what you must.”

“Stick to the non-violent things,” Hawke said helpfully. Anders spared her his _calm healer_ smile.

“Of course,” he said. The moment he cast the spell, he knew exactly what Hawke had been talking about. In general spells came from the Fade, but from within at the same time. A connection, like a mother and child still in the womb. Outside interference came in the form of things like getting punched in the head and losing your concentration, or a Templar’s _silence. _Fenris felt like neither. Instead, the lyrium in him acted almost like a second link, and instinct was to pull on that link to reinforce your magic even more. The first tug made Fenris light up, and Anders immediately let the spell go, just until they stopped. “Interesting,” he said, forgetting himself just a moment. “And my apologies. Your lyrium is certainly odd to cast on.”

“Yes, I gathered as much,” Fenris said, “are you...still casting?”

“Yes, I imagine I sound rather slow at the moment,” Anders said, letting the spell finally drop. “But I see your problem Hawke. You feel a bit like a second Fade connection. Mages don’t usually get interference on such a level, so instinct takes over.” He thought he was probably lucky, in that regard. Justice anchored him much more strongly than he had ever felt, save in the midst of a healing, calling on the spirits that had helped once. It made it easier to ignore the, well, noise of Fenris.

“Oh that’s a good way of explaining it,” Hawke said, “but I also was worried because spells I cast on him amplify – barriers last _forever_. With healing...” she trailed off. “Well. Let’s just say you don’t want someone like me healing someone who’s much more sensitive to it.”

Anders winced, remembering lessons on the dangers of _over_ healing. Visions of keloid scars and tumours danced in his head. “No, I understand,” he said. Fenris was looking between them with a frown – when Anders caught his eye he straightened and stood up, arms coming to cross his chest.

“You have never mentioned such things before,” he said, tone sharper as he looked at Hawke.

“Haven’t I?” she asked, looking confused, “I’m certain we had a whole conversation about _oh shit I can’t risk healing you again_, and then the whole conversation where I convinced you to come down here so we didn’t have the first conversation ever again. No?”

“About the barriers,” he said.

Hawke blinked. “Should we have? I’d think it’s something a warrior would like, having a barrier that lasts longer.”

Fenris’ eyes narrowed, and Anders watched, probably as bewildered as Hawke if her expression was anything to go by, as he made a disgusted sound and turned on his heel. Hawke let out a breath as the door closed behind him – Anders was distantly amused that, even when clearly angry, Fenris did not slam it behind him.

“Maker’s breath, I really do need to think just a _bit_ more when talking to him,” Hawke said. Despite the whole thing, she did not sound too put out, mostly wryly self chastising.

“Dare I ask?”

“Fenris...well it’s his story I can hardly tell it to you for him but suffice to say Fenris has had a previously bad relationship with magic. He’s very touchy about it, as a result,” Hawke said.

“But he runs around with you,” Anders said.

“Yes, Carver thinks he’s going to lop my head off in a fit of pique one day, but if anyone’s going to kill me out of annoyance my money’s on Aveline. I’d say Carver but his track record has been very good so far,” she flashed a grin.

“You _are_ still breathing, unless you know an exceptional necromancer,” he said. “I’m guessing this whole thing is tied to those markings?” Anders’ brief interaction gave him no insight into how on earth Fenris was still alive, let alone apparently sane.

“You are a very clever apostate healer!” she said. “Exactly the sort of apostate healer I’d want living in _my_ sewer, certainly.” Her smile finally dimmed a bit, tone mellowing from the cheer he was starting associate with her. “He has good reason, and as such is usually reasonable. I ought to go apologize though. I really did assume he’d realized.” She shook her head. “Anyway, the ways to reach me for help are the same, just so you don’t forget.”

Anders nodded, barely remembering at the last second his last correspondence from Karl. “Actually,” he said, “there is something.”

“Oh?” she _literally_ perked up.

“I – I have a friend, here in the Gallows,” he said. “We’ve been exchanging letters. A few weeks ago though, he dropped out of contact, only to suddenly start up again.”

To his surprise, Hawke frowned. “Did he say why? Has the tone of his letters changed?”

“He said he was being watched more carefully, but they’d decided he wasn’t up to anything,” Anders said, slowly. He had not _wanted_ to admit the letter was suspicious, and even now he spoke with some reticence. “And the letter is...more brusque even than usual. We can’t risk long exchanges.” Not when they were about what they were about, anyway. “He’s been working from the inside, smuggling people out, but he says he wants extraction. He asked me to meet him at one of the safe houses we use.”

“You don’t think it’s your friend,” Hawke said, studying him slowly. He nodded, meaning to continue but she beat him to it. “If you’re smuggling mages out, then there’s more than you involved. I know you’re here more often than not.” Anders’ eyebrows shot up at her admission, but he didn’t interrupt. “You think you’ve been found out, and you don’t want to risk your usual network being revealed.”

“Er, yes,” Anders said. Hawke flashed him a smile.

“You think I ran with a successful independent smuggler in Kirkwall without learning anything? And fear not, you’ve came to right woman!” she said, “I am _incredibly_ good at killing people, as are my friends. We probably shouldn’t tell Aveline though. We need to ease her into this sort of thing.”

“Mage freedom?”

“Flagrant crime. Or new ones, she’s used to most of the ones I do now,” Hawke said. “She’s got to be the only Guard in Kirkwall _not_ on the take, I swear. Sometimes I don’t know how we became friends.”

Anders was very tempted to follow that little comment down the inviting tangent, but not so much that he actually did so. Not least because, he was starting to think, if he let Hawke lead the conversation entirely, it would be quite the long route to a point indeed. He vaguely recalled her brother saying something to that affect, those weeks past.

“Meet me at the docks, 6 bells after sundown,” he said. “I’ll take you there.”

“But not using your usual route,” she said, eyes dancing. “You’re not half bad a smuggler yourself, Master Healer! Any sort of people you want me to bring in particular?”

“I’m sure I appreciate the compliment, Mistress Hawke,” he said. “Fighters, subtle people,” he said. “If it’s Templars, having people who won’t be smote silly is a definite boon.”

Hawke nodded, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. “Alright. Two days from now, 6 bells past sundown.” She sighed, “well, that apology isn’t making itself, is it?”

“Never learned that spell either hmm?” he said. “Well good luck. And next time Fenris needs healing, bring him down alright?”

“Even if Carver has to physically pick him and carry him down here, I’ll see it done,” she said. “Though you’ll need to heal Carver afterward, too, in that case. Goodnight, Master Healer!”

“Goodnight, Mistress Hawke,” he said. Despite everything, he had to smile.

* * *

Two days later he stood at steps that led from Lowtown to the docks, stomach twisting. Justice felt close to the surface, had done all day, brought forward no doubt by Anders’ anxiety. After these last few months it no longer felt the least bit like something foreign, it just felt like his magic had become _more_. Always closer to the skin, surging forward easier than ever. Justice’s mind didn’t feel like a voice in him, but rather it strengthened the voices already there. Right now though he was silent, having no place in Anders’ yet unrealized fears.

Justice after all, was absolute.

Anders on the other hand was getting very wet. It had been pissing rain for a day and a half at this point, and while Darktown was admittedly mostly dry, the docks were anything but. At least it meant he was harder to spot, and it would drown out smaller noises.

That was his excuse for why he neither saw nor spotted Hawke when she arrived. All he knew was that, at sixth bell exactly, there was a tap on his shoulder. He didn’t flail – between the Circle, Sigrun and Nate any inclination was long dead and buried – but he did have to resist the urge to slice back with his staff. He rather thought, if the way she gracefully stepped into his periphery a moment later was anything to go by, Hawke half expected him to.

She had three people with her, and all of them he recognized. Carver was in muted, forgettable clothing. Varric and Fenris weren’t as inconspicuous – between the bright well tailored clothing and the white hair and oh yes, _lyrium tattoos_, but against all odds they were as silent as Hawke.

“Hello, lovely night for a stroll, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Sure,” Anders said, far past to the point of too keyed up to banter. Hawke, as ever, didn’t seem offended. Indeed, her expression shifted ever so slightly, her smile sharpening. All of her shifted, an easy shift from nonchalant tease to very chalant professional.

“Varric and Carver are with you and me, Fenris is our lookout,” she looked over her shoulder to the unhappy looking elf, smile briefly morphing back into something friendlier, “and our distraction.”

Fenris didn’t respond, but he surprised Anders with what seemed like a nearly friendly nod. Anders nodded back, surprised his neck didn’t creak.

“The safe house is off the main road, other side of the imports lot,” he said.

“How many exits?” Carver asked.

“Five.”

“How many did your friend know about?” Hawke asked.

Anders grimaced. “Three.”

“How fair,” Hawke said, “we can go halvers. Where?”

“He knew about the roof and the doors, front and back. There’s also wall access; under the east window and along the north wall, but it leads to stairs up onto the import wall. There is a cellar, but it doesn’t lead anywhere.”

“Still a place to stash people for an ambush,” Hawke said. Then she clapped her hands, the sudden sharp sound nearly making him jump. The others seemed used to her, however. Fenris continued to scan the street, Carver’s entire body said _why?_ “Nothing we can’t handle is it boys?”

“It seems if we can’t, we will find out, won’t we?” Fenris said. Carver sent him a look nearly as disgusted as the one he’d just shot at Hawke. Fenris must have seen it, since he was facing them all for the moment, but he apparently gave no shits.

“Your optimism fills me with joy, Fenris,” Hawke said. “Now, enough chit chat,” she made a shooing gesture at Anders, a clear sign that he was to lead them. Anders, thankful to be moving, set down the street.

He was a little surprised when Carver and Fenris both came up, Carver level with him to the left, Fenris at his elbow. Now that he knew they were here, the group wasn’t quite as silent, but it was still eerie, how close they were. Fenris especially was bad – only the quiet song of his lyrium tattoos told Anders he was there. He felt it, too, when Fenris split away from the group as they turned down the tight ally that lead to the safe house. Lookout and distract, Hawke had said. He supposed you couldn’t really look out from a place with no views.

With Fenris gone, Varric moved up, and when Anders directed them to stop, Varric took the front, checking the door.

“All good, I guess they want us in the kill zone,” Varric said. No one responded, and Anders had to give it to them, Templars were very good at dampening of all kinds. Opening the door and stepping in was somehow one of the most stressful things Anders had ever done – though it was not even close to the most stressful thing he’d ever done.

Carver took point, none too subtly elbowing Anders into the back with Hawke, who pat him gently on the shoulder before moving to follow her brother. Inside, he made sure to point out where the entrances were. The false wall under the east window was easy. The floor was entirely covered in rugs, which made it harder to find the cellar and also absorbed sound made by nervous run away mages.

The place wasn’t huge, but it was long and skinny, three rooms back in a rectangle rather than the more familiar box shape of Lowtown. The eastern window was in the second room, the cellar in the back. He overtook Carver for the last stretch, who scowled but didn’t argue. Anders eased open the door, ready for a fight and -

\- and felt everything in him go loose at the sight of cropped grey hair; broad shoulders; mage’s robes.

“Karl,” he said before he could stop himself.

“Hello Anders.”

The voice was wrong. Anders didn’t understand why, refused to understand why until Karl turned around and that – that _thing_ was staring him the face. Angry and red.

Someone sucked in a breath behind him, Hawke swore softly, barely more than a breath. Anders could only stare.

“I knew you would come. You should not have.”

“Karl,” he said again. “You-” words failed him. Karl – Karl who they had made Tranquil. A Harrowed mage, an enchanter. _Tranquil._ He should have teased Anders about tripping over his own tongue but they’d stolen that from him and so Karl, Karl just stared. Dispassionate.

He was distantly aware of a creak from above. He heard it – but he didn’t understand it because his vision was going grey. There was a surge of magic behind him, the sound of metal clashing onto metal, and everything went dark.

* * *

Anders came back to himself in a damp tunnel that smelt like brine. For a long moment he had no idea where he was, the roar of the ocean a confusing cacophony, but the feel of fingers around his wrist centred him. He looked up and around, surprised to find a wisp gently circling his head, throwing soft blue-white light in a small area. The deja vu was so strong that when he turned to the person holding his wrist he didn’t process who it really was; his brain saw pale skin and dark hair and he was suddenly looking at Ingrid Amell.

Except Ingrid was short, and her hair wasn’t curly and she wasn’t here and if she was she probably wouldn’t be holding his wrist.

“Hawke?”

“Do you know any _other_ dashing apostates who regularly skulk around tunnels?” she asked.

“Yes?” he said, “where are we – Karl?”

“We’re in a smuggler’s tunnel, has to lead the Templars on _quite_ the merry chase and it was not easy with you glowing so fervently,” she said. “I believe Varric grabbed Karl. Anders,” she looked him straight in the eye. “Is it safe to go to your clinic?”

“It – it should be yes,” he said. “Karl didn’t even know what I was doing specifically. It’s not safe-” the words once again failed, strangled by his anger and his pain. Blue crackled along his arms, vision greying again, but he beat it back, in no small part because despite it all, Hawke’s fingers were still warm around his wrist. “Hawke I-”

“Not here. We’re probably alone, but if we’re not it’s best not to give anyone a reason to remember they saw us,” she said. “I’m going to send you up through a different exit, it will take you to the Foundry district, near the Darktown entrance there.”

“Split up, because they’re looking for two people,” he said, finally freeing his hand so he could push his hair away from his face.

“Exactly, though they’ll have quite the time giving anyone a description of you,” she said. “Now let’s go, before the tide comes in.”

* * *

Anders did not expect to see Hawke again.

Four three days, Templars prowled Darktown. The refugees did their best to be nuisances, but they had to stay out of range as well. He’d treated non-mages for wounds before, and with the Templars in such a snarl about losing one of their Tranquil _and_ failing their operation it would only be worse.

So imagine his surprise when he woke up on the fourth day to find one Marian Hawke reclining on a cot. Her brother was in the corner, and he nearly tripped over his own feet when he spotted one ‘Captain’ Isabela lounging next to him.

“And he wakes!” Hawke said as soon as he came into view, grinning as brightly as ever. “You are a hard man to get to these days. So many shiny menaces pacing outside your door!”

“I am very aware,” Anders said. “I – why is Isabela here?”

“When Hawke told me what I missed at the docks I just _knew_ I had to meet you, of course” Isabela said. “But it seems we’ve met!”

“Denerim, The Peal?” he said, she paused, clearly thinking and so he added, “it was six years.” Immediately, her already flirty grin turned down right salacious.

“Oh, the mage with the lightning trick,” she said. “Oh yes I remember you! It was _such_ a shame when the Templars caught you. You did make a good go of it though, if only you’d made it out the window.”

“You understand he’s possessed, yes?” Carver cut in, bringing reality crashing right down. “An abomination.”

“Oh, voyeurism isn’t so bad,” Isabela said, not missing a beat. “I certainly don’t mind!”

Carver’s glare could have peeled paint, and he pivoted, turning to his sister. “Why are we _here_ Mari? This is insane.”

“Why are you here? If you plan to turn me I do have to say, it’s not going to go well,” Anders said. “And what happened with Karl?”

“No one is turning anyone in,” Hawke said, standing. “Karl’s safe. He’s been keeping Varric company. Do you remember us speaking with him?”

“I remember him saying I shouldn’t have come,” Anders said, relief hitting him rather like a plated fist to face, leaving him light headed.

“So you don’t remember what happened when your ah, other half came out to play?” she asked.

“Justice,” he said. “It’s a spirit of Justice.”

“Your joking, people don’t get possessed by _spirits_,” Carver said.

“Well, I’m special then,” Anders said. “And no. I do sometimes, usually.”

“I see,” Hawke said, frowning a little. “Well. While you were in Justice mode Karl was...” she paused. “I imagine Karl was the man you knew. He was temporarily untranquil, if you would. He said it was like you’d brought the Fade itself into the real world. Not an incorrect description, from my point of view.”

Anders stared at her for a moment, and finally his knees gave up and he sat heavily on the nearest bed.

“What did he say?”

“He was upset about you,” she said, “and he was very upset about being made Tranquil. He agreed to go with Varric though, clearly your friend has excellent taste.”

Anders couldn’t say anything, could only rest his head in his hands. To his surprise, the bed next to him dipped, and he looked over to see Hawke, face uncharacteristically serious.

“Do you know why I came back here?” she asked.

“Lack of self preservation?” he said. A smile twitched on her lips, there and gone again in a flash.

Carver made a noise half way between agreement and offence – Anders wondered how often Hawke felt the urge to smack him upside the head. Isabela laughed.

“He has you pegged, sugar,” Isabela said.

“Yes well, I suppose that’s part of it. But mostly because after we were done murdering all the Templars, you didn’t hurt anyone. Even when I grabbed you, I left completely unscathed. Not exactly what we’re taught to expect from an abomination.”

“So you were curious?” he said.

“Shamelessly so,” she said. “Also I think I broke my ankle yesterday.” To emphasize this she swung around, and Anders suddenly had a foot in his lap. Instinct over took, letting him set aside his confusion. Easing her boot off – and earning several very Ferelden curses in doing so – showed that yes, she certainly had. It wasn’t a bad break though, more of a fracture. Before long she was tugging her boot back on. “See! How could I turn away such a useful person! People.”

“Person,” he said, smiling despite himself. “Justice isn’t...discrete. We’re not two beings in one.”

“Fascinating,” she said, going cross legged. “Carver’s right though, I’ve never had a spirit ask me to play host. You said he's Justice? Was Justice.”

“It was a complicated situation,” Anders said. “When I was with the Wardens we got involved with a," he paused, and then opted not to try and explain talking Darkspawn, "a powerful malificar. We ended up in the Fade, where we met Justice. Our exit ended up pulling him out of the Fade into the corpse of one of the other Wardens.”

“I’m sorry did you say _enter_ the Fade?”

“Not physically,” he clarified, “just locked into a dream state. Ing – the Commander apparently underwent a similar thing with a Sloth demon during the Blight. She wasn’t terribly worried about it.” Despite himself another smile tugged at his mouth, remembering Oghren’s reaction. “Anyway. We didn’t have any idea about what was going to happen to Justice without a host. The Commander thought he might be able to survive, but she wasn’t sure and so Justice was...scared I suppose.” He shook his head. “Anyway. I thought I was helping a friend, we had no clue what would happen. Most possessions the demon is still partly in the Fade – as far as I know Justice and I are unique.”

There was a long moment of silence. Carver still looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. Isabela was picking at her nails with a small dagger, and Hawke looked...thoughtful.

“I won’t lie, it’s a bit unnerving,” she said finally. “But I wasn’t lying earlier either. You are very handy. And at least your spirit friend didn’t possess an _ugly_ Warden.”

Anders laughed. He really could not help it.

“Very right, Hawke.” Isabela said, coming forward to study Anders. Or oogle, but it felt more studied despite the leer. “And he seems sane to me. In Rivain, Seers often invite spirits to possess them. It’s more of a temporary lodging than a roommate deal but I suppose some people just jump right into that whole commitment thing, don't they?”

“Really?” Hawke looked to Isabela, who nodded.

“I don’t know the details of course, never cared much either way personally, so long as they don’t try to kill me.”

“Fascinating,” Hawke said. “And look at Anders here, completely not trying to kill us!” She grinned, and hopped to her feet.

“Careful on that ankle,” he said, “it will be a little fragile for a day.”

“Yessir,” she said, snapping a salute with the wrong hand.

“Are we leaving?” Carver asked, finally peeling himself away from the wall.

“We are,” Hawke said, tone oozing regret. “I am a busy lady – we’re leaving for the Deep Roads, end of the month. So many people to see before then. First though – Varric’s at the Hanged Man, he said to drop by whenever. A little birdy told me the Templars should be pulling out from here over the next day, so you should be back to normal by week's end.”

“Thank you,” Anders said. She nodded, patting his shoulder and he watched them go, his momentary relief replaced with a new tension. They were nearly out the door when he said, “Hawke? I know I said you owed me but I think you’ve surpassed the amount of favour I had earned.”

Hawke looked at him, curious so he barrelled on.

“So, if you need me, feel free to drop by. Not just for healing.”

Hawke lit up, like a piece of dry lichen that just met a pyromaniac. “Is this your way of saying you want to traipse around Kirkwall getting shot at with me?”

“I suppose it is,” he said.

“You have the worst taste in friends,” Carver said from outside the clinic.

“Carver, I thought we were getting along!” Isabela said. Even from here, Anders could hear the boy splutter. Hawke sent him a wink.

“We’ll be around,” she said. “I promise.” And then she disappeared. Anders sat back onto his cot, and tried not to grin like a loon.

**Author's Note:**

> This was just an attempt to stretch out the events of Anders' recruitment. Give him a bit more of a relationship before the Big Reveal, and it turns out a reason for me to write some more banter. I accidentally may have diverged more than I intended, now that Karl isn't dead, so maybe you'll see a follow up on that front. Karl aside it definitely diverges back into canon, mostly, with similar relationships between Anders and everyone else.


End file.
